Waiting for the Successor
by redbeanleaver
Summary: Before the Hogwarts Castle was a school, it was an abandoned ruin. The four Founders, fueled by rumors of a Ghost, entered the castle in hopes of discovering the Ghost. But as it turns out, "Ghost" is different. Very, very different. And he is waiting for the arrival of the next Soul King, who will someday, somehow, appear in this old, crumbling castle as a Master of Death.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own HP or Bleach, and thank God for that, since I would most likely have butchered both stories by now.**

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**Head Up: TimeTravelAU, MasterofDeath!Harry, epilogue of Deathly Hallows may or may not apply since I haven't really decided yet.**

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**This is the result of half-baked ideas cluttering my head until I grew sick of them and decided to throw them out in a writing streak. Enjoy.**

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In the grass field, two young children sat in front of each other. One of them, a red-haired boy with a pout on his lips and a cut on his arm, held out his wound to the other, a girl. The girl, blond hair shining in the sun and bent over the protruded arm, was skillfully casting healing charms over his wound with a slight frown that had nothing to do with the difficulty of the task before her.

When the wound was sealed, she sighed and let go of his arm. "There," she said. "I did the best I could. It won't scar at the very least."

The boy took back his healed limb and flexed it experimentally. He then lifted his eyes towards the witch.

"Helga, a scar is a man's pride. It shows bravery, experience-"

Helga cut in swiftly. "-and recklessness. Honestly, Godric, was scaling and jumping off the old tree such a good idea?"

Godric's pout returned at full force. "It was for the sake of the fallen nest. It was the right thing to do."

"Indeed it was, but deciding halfway down that the height was a perfect chance to test a new landing spell was not." argued Helga. "If not for Salazar's own spell, you may have been critically injured!"

At the mention of his rival, Godric scowled and picked at the grass. "The snake boy may have gotten a step ahead of me with that particular spellwork, but I won't let it last for long."

He then winced at an unexpected whack on his head. "Don't call Sal that! We've known each other for so long and you still call him 'snake boy.'" chastised the witch.

"Well, he is," murmured Godric, too low for Helga to hear. But she hit his head once again. He winced and rubbed his skull in pain, shooting her looks of confusion.

"I could read your lips," she explained, her eyes flashing with warning. "And I didn't think that what you said about my friend was something nice, Godric Gryffindor."

Holding his hands up in a sign of peace, Godric tried to calm her down before she became serious and pulled out her wand. Though loyal friend she was to him, Helga was also the snak- _Salazar_'s loyal friend (and why she would ever befriend and stand up for the slimy kid was a mystery to him), and hell hath no fury like a Hufflepuff's revenge.

"Fine, I'll stop calling him that name." He consented, but was already deviously planning a new nickname, something that accented the Parseltongue ability further.

Helga sent a deeply suspicious glare at him, which he countered with the most innocent look he could muster. Not really happy but relatively satisfied, the witch huffed and flicked a lock of blond hair behind her ear. Deciding that it would be best to change subjects before he slipped up and added something less than pleasant again, Godric asked Helga a question.

Adopting a casual and lighthearted voice, the boy prodigy threw out bluntly without any preamble, "Do you want to explore the Hogwarts Castle?"

Helga's reaction was instantaneous. Her eyes widened comically, her skin paled, and overall she looked less like an accomplished witch than a gaping fish who just learned what happens to those who bite hooks.

Despite being so passionate in the defense of her friends, Helga was actually quite fearful of many things. This happened to include the large and crumbling ruin that was the ancient Hogwarts Castle.

The stone building had been around since who know when, and has been collecting dust and spiders for centuries at least. All sorts of creatures from bats to beetles dwelled in the mysterious building, and the halls were always dark and thrillingly horrific. But the most fearsome aspect of the ruins was the recent rumor of a Ghost dwelling inside a circular room in a rotting tower.

Perfect for an adventure.

"No!" she shrieked, leaping away from him as if he, by mentioning the place, was the Ghost himself. "The place is unnatural, Godric, it's haunted! Everybody knows that!"

"Which why it's perfect for an adventure!" Godric also stood up, excitement already gleaming in his eyes. "Imagine it Helga, we can meet the Ghost face to face! Wouldn't it be great fun?"

The young witch furiously shook her head. "You're mad, Godric! Even ignoring the Ghost, there could be all kinds of other things, like vampires, or werewolves, or even a banshee!" argued Helga, eyes growing wider and wider at the mention of potential dangerous beings.

"Helga, there are no vampires in this area, it's only the half moon tonight, and a banshee just adds to the thrill!"

In spite of his arguments, Helga was adamant upon her point. "Even so, you can't possibly go! It's too dangerous!"

Here Godric drew himself up proudly. "I'm a Gryffindor, and Gryffindors never quake in the face of danger! This smells of fine adventure, and I'm going with or without you!"

His statement seemed to have had some strange effect on the blond girl, for she paused, mouth hanging open. Her eyes became distant and unfocused as she slowly shut her mouth and chewed her lip in thought. Godric tilted his head in confusion.

_Perhaps she is trying to think of an argument,_ he thought, and thus braced himself for whatever argument she would undoubtedly throw at him.

Her eyes refocused and Helga stopped chewing her lip. Slowly, deliberately, her eyes locked back onto Godric's and in them he saw iron-hard resolve.

_Merlin_, he cursed. _She must have a really good reason. I must not be swayed._

Godric mentally braced himself so fiercely that his physical stance changed as well, fists clenched tight and knees bent for support. Jaws squared and shoulders hunched, he ran through all the reasons why they should explore, which may seem a bit overkill on his part but it was necessary because Helga was almost as good Rowena when it came down to convincing and he really really wanted to go and meet the Ghost and ask it questi-

"When and where should we meet before we go?"

Godric blinked. He stared. He blinked again.

"What?" he croaked, only half believing his ears.

Helga pulled her hair nervously but her eyes were still determined. "I said, when and where should we meet before we go?"

His mouth gaping open, only fragments of sentences dropped from his mouth. "You, go… we… castle exploring?"

Only then did his brain kick in and in a whoop of joy, he nearly lifted Helga off the ground in his happy hug.

Swinging her around in his arms, Godric grinned from ear to ear. "Thanks Helga, I knew you would come through! Let's meet up by the Hogwarts gate at sunset! This is going to be an adventure clean out of a book!"

"Unless you suffocate your partner first," weakly uttered the girl somewhere in his robes.

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The sunset was a spectacular red and gold mess spilling all over the world like fire. Godric stood by the gates, marveling at the beauty of the colors. Someday, when he becomes a wizard as strong as Merlin, he walk -no, _glide_- with impressive and yet mysterious red and gold robes that billow out as he moves, for then he would be so powerful that the very air moves with the force of his magic. Enemies will be in awe of him, so much that they will respect him more than they hate him, because he would be that great of a wizard.

Godric closed his eyes and savored his boyish fantasy. He would have a matching red and gold crest that will strike fear into enemies' hearts and love in his allies'. His familiar would be none other than a lion of course, courageous and as powerful as his master. People would gather and look in awe at him and declare that Godric Gryffindor was indeed the finest and best wizard in the whole world…

His daydreams were broken by the sound of feet scuffling on gravel. In his mind's eye, Godric saw Helga, nervous but unwaveringly loyal, the best friend one could ever ask for. He opened his eyes, and blinked in confusion.

There was Helga, eyes set but still twisting her hands in her robes. He had expected that. What he did not expect were the two people behind her.

One was a girl with long dark hair and curious grey eyes. Even without looking at the family crest embroidered on her robes, he knew that it was Rowena Ravenclaw, another one of Helga's close friends that he himself was not close with. While Godric never really talked to her, he knew of her position as the 'smartest of her generation.' Which was saying quite a lot, since there was him, Helga, and, most unfortunately, Salazar to consider.

And speaking of the snake, there he was, cunning eyes and all, positively sneering at Godric from behind Helga's shoulder. Of all the kids he knew, Salazar Slytherin was the one he got along with the least. Salazar was always sneering, acting as if Godric was nothing but dirt, and if there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was being underestimated. The only reason he called him by his first name was because Helga tried so hard to get the two of them to like each other.

"Why are you here, Salazar?"growled Godric, glaring at the boy.

Salazar gave an unimpressed look from down his nose. "Use that grey mush you call a brain, Godric. I'm here because Helga invited me, and," he sniffed arrogantly, "it would most displease her most terribly if I wasn't here to save your worthless life."

Godric gritted his teeth together. "Didn't know you cared so much, Salazar," he bit out angrily. "Are you sure you didn't come because you have no other friends than Helga to be with?"

Helga looked torn between rage at both of their behavior and fear for the looming castle before them. Rowena was merely staring at the two with a slight tilt of her head, a detached and yet disturbingly calculating gaze in her stormy eyes.

Salazar's high cheekbones flushed pink and his dark eyes flashed anger. Thrusting an arm to a perpendicular angle to himself, he opened his mouth as if to speak. But what he said was in no English; it was a series of eerie hisses that made Godric's skin crawl. Soon, two green snakes about the length of his arm slid out of a clump of bushes near the gate.

Parseltongue.

The snakes twined themselves around the boy's ankles. Salazar smirked triumphantly at Godric before reaching down to let them slide up the length of his arm. The reptiles willingly climbed up his arm and wrapped themselves around his shoulders.

"It seems I do indeed have friends, Godric. And they tell me that you smell like something awful." Salazar smugly stroked one of the snake's head.

Godric felt another spark of anger. "Maybe their senses are damaged by the pompous attitude you so thickly excrete."

"At least I have something to be prideful about, whereas I can never even hope to say the same for you."

"Prideful that you can speak to a pair of worms?" he shot back, fingers twitching for his wand.

"Prideful of my intellect and blood, both of which are vastly superior to yours," coolly replied the Parseltongue, though Godric saw his own fingers twitching.

Godric was already planning his first curse. "Your blood is corrupt with dishonor towards mundane beings."

Salazar's eyes were glinting malevolently. "And yours is filthy with the wild and impulsive natures of your ancestors."

"My ancestors were not cowards who hid under spun lies and twisted truths."

"My ancestors were not primates who could not hold an intellectual conversation."

_Clap, clap_.

Both boys spun their heads towards the sound of clapping. Her back facing the sunset, Rowena was clapping politely at them, her head still slightly tilted at an angle.

"As interesting as this verbal fight is, it is in all of our best interests to start what we came here for before words turn from insults to spells," she stated calmly. Then her head straightened, and those grey eyes suddenly looked like steel.

Her voice cold, she spoke. "It is degrading to both families that their descendants be involved in such petty quarrels. You two are not infants anymore, despite the levels of immaturity you incessantly display. You are heirs to noble houses, as am Helga and I, and we will _all_ _act_ as future heads of our houses in this adventure that Gryffindor and Helga have invited us to."

The cold imposing image of the witch lasted for several tense seconds, during which both Salazar and Godric struggled not to fidget under her icy glare. Then the spell broke and she returned to a young, curious girl their age.

"There, that's better. Now, Slytherin, if you would be so kind, will you please ask your beautiful friends if they know the way in and through the castle?"

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To no one's surprise, Helga roughly shook and yelled at both boys for being so immature and disrespectful to each other. It was doubtful that she could have been any more fearsome even if the Furies were floating behind her. Rowena, slightly smug, watched from a safe distance.

Luckily, the boys were spared any more reproach from the blond the moment they stepped through the rusted iron gates of the castle. Night had fallen, and in the cold light of the half moon, the castle was even more intimidating. From that point on Helga was too busy shaking and jumping at every noise to pay attention to Godric and Salazar. It was a great testament of her loyalty to her friends that she followed them into the dark mouth that was the entrance of the castle.

The snakes were incredible guides. Giving directions through Salazar, the two managed to save them from wandering into large beetle colonies, avoiding collapsed staircases, and plunging into deep holes in where the floor caved in. (There was one instance where the snakes were suddenly unnaturally alert, which cause a small panic amongst the four, but it turned out that they only smelled a juicy mouse that seemed to appeal to their stomachs. Salazar gave them a stern hissing for that one.)

No one needed to ask each other where they were going, because they already knew the rumor by heart. Deep in the castle, there is a tower. In the tower there is a spiral staircase leading to a circular room. In the circular room, there dwells a soul that refuses to leave the Hogwarts castle.

A Ghost was not a rare occurrence, but it was still immensely interesting when one comes around. There is natural curiosity aroused by the presence of the dead. Who was it? How did it die? Why is it still here? And the four, though so vastly different in personality, all are recognized prodigies, and that trait pushes them to discover, even fearful Helga.

They continued on their night adventure in eerie silence. The only light was of the half moon that faded through open windows. Every step quickened another breath, and none dared to look behind them, in fear of something waiting in the shadows that they passed by. The silence closed in on them all, broken only by a few words of Parseltongue, which only made the silence more apparent when the hissing stopped. For all their magical accomplishments and soon-to-be political power, they were still only children.

Suddenly as the sound of breaking china, the snakes shrieked in high pitched hisses and writhed in distress. All four of them jumped and Helga looked ready to faint. Salazar frowned and immediately hissed out a few sentences. The rest waited anxiously, still refusing to look back and yet refusing to take a step forward without an explanation as to why their guides were shrieking as if the devil had come.

Godric stole a glance at Salazar's face, and his heart nearly froze in fear. The boy's face was carefully composed, but in his eyes sparked raw and intense terror. The snakes continued to hiss and writhe as if in actual physical pain.

Finally, Salazar stopped conversing with the snakes. Clearing his throat, the boy began to whisper quietly to them all.

"The snakes will only go this far." He spoke softly, but the sudden burst of English from the previous high pitched hissings was as loud as a cannon blast. "In front of us is the entrance to the tower through the spiral staircase, and at the top the circular room with the Ghost."

Here Salazar wet his lips before continuing. "But… it seems we are dealing with more than a Ghost."

Everyone paled. "What do you mean?" asked Godric, and winced at how loud his voice sounded.

"Normally, snakes don't fear Ghosts. The fact that your friends are so agitated means that this… _being_ is something more than an average Ghost," quietly observed Rowena, looking quite ghostly herself.

Salazar nodded. Then, without warning, the snakes gave a final shriek and flung themselves off the boy and slithered away into the shadows. Four pairs of eyes followed their movements, and unwillingly they realized that they had turned around. They raised their eyes and saw the uncanny darkness in of the castle hall, clinging to the walls and floors like heavy oil.

Unconsciously, they all scooted closer to each other, bodies pressed against warm bodies to reassure themselves that there was another human there. But the small foursome seemed too weak to stand against the unspoken horrors of the castle.

Godric looked at them all, and saw the terror clearly etched on their faces. He took a steadying breath. "What are we doing, standing about like some huddled birds? Are we not going to find that room, Ghost or not?"

The others looked at him and blinked blankly. Then, slowly like a sunrise, their faces grew determined again and the fear was pushed away.

"Come, the stairs are only stairs. Let us go." Feeling less confident than he acted, Godric spun on his heel and marched. Salazar, Helga and Rowena followed closely, for which he was thankful, because he didn't think he could climb alone.

The stairs may have been only stairs, but they were still very _creepy _stairs. Salazar and Helga took the lead while Rowena and Godric followed behind, for the stairs were only wide enough for two. Salazar went ahead just in case there was another snake, and Helga followed him mostly because it would have struck guilt in the other three's hearts to have forced her to be in the back.

Finally, all four of them were on a smooth stone landing in front of a once ornate but now rotting wooden door. Godric gulped at the sight of cobwebs enshrouding the handle, but reminding himself of bravery, he reached out with small hands and grasped the rusted iron handle.

Before he could push though, Rowena stopped him.

"Wait, Gryffindor," said she, eyes narrowing at the door. "It's locked. Or rather, the keyhole is sealed."

The other three scooted closer to the door. As she said, directly under the handle, there was a small keyhole crammed with what might have been a broken key.

"How did you catch that?" asked Helga in a slightly awed voice.

Rowena gave a brief smile. "With eyes that see and observe."

The dark haired girl pulled out her wand. "Stand back," she warned.

Pointing her wand to the lock, she frowned in concentration and muttered, "_Portaberto_."

A flash of light later, the keyhole was not only unsealed, but also gone from existence, leaving behind a smoking, splintering mess.

Salazar eyed the newly made hole in slight distaste. "Couldn't you have picked a less, _chaotic,_ spell?"

The witch appeared to have suddenly been turned deaf for all the reaction she gave to his sneer. She placed her hand on the door. "Allow me."

Rowena sent a sharp steel look at them all. "From here, it would be prudent to arm yourselves."

Godric, Helga, and Salazar whipped out their wands. Rowena pushed the door open.

They stepped inside.

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The circular room was stone like the rest of the castle, but it was completely swept clean of dust and mold. A makeshift bed of clumsy woodmanship and blanket heaps was pushed to the right of the room, under what was once a handsome set of wide, open windows.

A teenager was sitting on the bed.

His hair was a wild mess of orange locks. He was clothed in strange black robes. His features were strange and unlike any they had ever seen, but still unarguably handsome. His skin was tan and taunt over his muscles. He was studying them with bright brown eyes. He was not silver or transparent.

Despite the fact that four wands were leveled to his face, the teenager didn't appear concerned at all. He just focused his eyes over each of their faces, studying them in an extremely focused manner. Then he flopped back onto the blankets and sighed in what sounded oddly like disappointment.

"Damn," he groaned, one calloused hand passing over his face. "And here I was hoping one of you might have been him."

Once the teen had spoken, it was as if a spell had been shattered and the four released a breath they were not aware they had been holding.

"Where's the Ghost?" demanded Godric, feeling reckless and stepping closer.

The teenager didn't get up, but just looked at the boy from the corner of his eye. "What Ghost?"

"There are rumors of a Ghost living in the circular room of a certain tower," explained Rowena, her head tilted in a curious manner again. "That would be you, would it not?"

After a moment of thought, a wiry half smile formed on the teenager's lips. "Yah, I'm a Ghost. What of it?"

A silence settled in the room as the witch thought of a reply.

Coming to a conclusion, she stated confidently, "I think that you are lying."

He gave her another side-ways look. "Why?"

"A normal deceased would be transparent and silver in color," she explained. "You are neither."

"I'm an exception, and hopefully the only one you'll ever see." Saying that, the teen rolled off his bed and strode towards the girl.

Immediately, Godric threw himself between them, eyes narrowed with warning. "Don't you try anything, Ghost," he all but growled.

Lips twisted in a crooked half smile, the teen lifted his right hand and touched the boy's shoulder. Godric flinched but was surprised to feel no contact. Looking down, he was shocked to find that the hand had slid clean through his flesh. Apparently the teenager wasn't as solid as he looked.

Pulling out his hand, the teen walked back towards his bed and slumped himself onto the shaky wooden frame.

Surprisingly, it wasn't Rowena who asked the next question, but Helga. "Why are you here, Ghost?"

Ghost, for a lack of a better name, scratched his neck and scowled. "Can't really go into details, but I'm looking for someone. I've got a source saying that the person will come here someday."

Godric frowned and gestured to the rotting door behind them. "Who would come _here_?" he asked, confused.

"Exactly what I thought," said Ghost. "So I was disappointed when it was none of you, since you four were the only ones who came in the last decade or so."

Salazar sneered at Ghost. "You've been here for a decade, and the castle is still in this ruinous state? Lovely house-keeping skills."

Ghost didn't seem to care for Salazar's disrespect and just waved a flippant hand towards the window behind him. Even from their position, all four of them could see the decaying and crumbling structure of the castle below.

"Even if I did clean up, what would this place be used for?" asked Ghost, staring dispassionately outside. "This place can't become anything special."

The four of them blurted out their thoughts at the same time.

"Hospital."

"Library."

"Political capital."

"Magical habitat."

Helga looked at Rowena. Rowena looked at Salazar. Salazar looked at Godric. Godric looked at Helga. Ghost looked at all of them.

"I believe a library would help people much more than a center of debate, Slytherinth," commented Rowena. Her voice was pleasant but her eyes were gleaming, daring any to contradict.

"A hospital could do much more good than both," injected Helga.

"What a disgrace to this once magnificent castle for it to become a hovel for the sick and lame. Restored it to its former beauty and this could be a magnificent gathering of intellectuals," argued Salazar, lips pulled disapprovingly at the Helga's idea.

"Rather than having a load of fat arguing men, why not have it full of magical creatures? This place can do with a bit more interest," Godric added, eyes already far away with the prospect of new creatures.

"I will not have Hogwarts castle be some sort of zoo for misfit creatures! This could be a home for knowledge, a place of reference for generations to come!"

"Rather than cramming this building with dirty old tomes, wouldn't being a political capital be so much better!? Can't you imagine the power this place would hold!?"

"Power!? We are talking about the possibility of saving hundreds, no, maybe _thousands,_ from disease and injury, and you speak of _power_!?"

"I still vote upon stocking this place amok with unicorns and giant squids!"

"No! Use this place as a government hall!"

"Hospital, I say! See sense!"

"I see far more sense, and I still claim library!"

"Will none see the merits of unicorns!?"

"Hospital!"

"Politics!"

"Library!"

"Elves!"

"_School."_

Four heads whipped toward the soft voice. Ghost was frowning while sitting with his head propped on one knee, deep in thought.

"A school can have a library; an especially large one it we are putting this castle in consideration." Rowena raised an eyebrow but nodded in agreement.

"And naturally a place for children would need a Hospital Wing in case of injuries," continued Ghost, ignoring Helga's shrug of content.

"By splitting students into Houses, one can create mock-political parties in a sense." Salazar hummed his consent.

Ghost finally looked up at Godric with uncertain eyes. "Well… I guess there could be a class for taking care of magical creatures, though I have a hard time figuring out where to keep a giant squid."

The four exchanged looks.

"A school is a relatively good use of Hogwarts Castle, I suppose. Though, Ghost, you may have to wait until we're older for that ambition to come true," commented Salazar. He took on a slightly frustrated expression. "Prodigies we are, children have little real power."

Ghost gave them a twisted smile that had an odd touch of sorrow.

"Believe me when I say I have an eternity to wait."

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**Please leave a review out the virtual door.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2, and thanks to all those who reviewed Chapter 1. Well appreciated, all of them:)**

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**Five Years Later (Age 14)**

Godric crouched on the balls of his feet and squinted hard at his old, torn, lifeless hat. Behind him, Helga fiddled nervously with her hands, eyes anticipating. Rowena was poised in a battle stance, quill and parchment raised and ready to take notes. Salazar was leaning casually on a wall support, trying not to look interested and failing miserably.

According to Ghost, once the round green pill was placed in a body of sorts there would be something interesting to see, but he never specified if a hat could count as a vessel. But there was no harm in trying (plus Helga would faint at the sight of an animal carcass, so a hat it is).

Salazar was skeptical, to say in the least. Right up until Rowena silenced him with a spell the teen had blathered on and on about how it was all just one big prank from the orange-haired deceased. Which it might actually be, but Godric was always one for leaps, even if some past ones led to spectacular falls.

So, fingers crossed and prayers sent, the heir to the Gryffindor House rocked back and forth on his feet, watching intently at the wide slash of fabric in which he dropped the pill into.

Suspenseful heartbeats later, they were rewarded with a dusty cough and a "Damn ye brat, a hat of all things?"

* * *

**Ten Years Later (Age 24)**

Salazar knocked twice on the door of Ghost's room, grimacing at the bits of decayed wood that fell at his robe sleeves. Dead or not, it was unbecoming to live behind a chunk of rotten wood that someone should have thrown in fire decades ago.

"Come in."

Having received his invitation, Salazar pushed the disgusting door aside.

Ghost was seated on the floor of his room, surrounded by thick and heavy tomes the way a fortress was surrounded by walls. A set of long fingers flickered through a surprisingly slim book; Salazar faintly recalled being read the same book out loud for bedtime stories.

He approached and peered at the title. "_Tales of Beetle the Bard_, Ghost? A child's book." He would have scoffed if Slytherins were not capable of such vulgarities.

Ghost continued to read. "Maybe I'm just making up for my childhood," he said, completely unruffled.

It was a passing remark, but nonetheless the Slytherin stored of that little crumb of information away. It was obvious Ghost was not all he claimed to be, and so Salazar considered suspicion fair game.

With brought up another thing he noticed about Ghost. "I thought that, as a spirit, you could not touch anything physical?" He still remembered the rather blunt way that was proven the first night they met.

The dead teen's brown eyes continued to scan the book. "I usually can't touch anything, but if I focus my energy into specific parts of my body I can come in contact with physical and living things."

"Does the same apply for other spirits?"

"No." A page was turned and Ghost's eyes moved at a steady speed again.

"Hmm," Salazar hummed, and his thoughts took another turn. "Ghost, who ordered you to find this, _person_ anyways?"

Brown eyes froze. "What makes you think someone _ordered_ me to?" His voice was soft but careful.

Salazar was not stupid enough to miss the sudden tension spike, but he pressed on anyway. "From what I've seen, you are a rather determined when given the reason. Correct me if I'm wrong, but staying in a wretched decaying castle for nearly three decades for a single person seems like there is a strong reason behind it all. If you were looking for the person for yourself, I think you would have put more effort it. However, your less-than-initiative actions and yet confusing refusal to leave lead me to conclude that it was an order, one that you only half-heartedly are willing to carry out."

Ghost was silent for a while, eyes still frozen and staring down. Then he sighed and reached for his bookmark.

"You are rather perceptive."

Salazar brushed aside the compliment with experienced ease. "You haven't answered me, Ghost."

"I never said I will."

His tone implied that the conversation was over. Smoothly sliding in his bookmark, Ghost shut the storybook and lifted his head. Brown eyes, so intense that he felt it hard to believe that they were dead, met Salazar's own. It threatened not to ask any further. Salazar took a step back.

Then the glare was broken. "So, what are you here for anyways?" Ghost's voice was suddenly a lot less calculated and a lot more open, like a favorite uncle asking how he'd been.

Salazar gave an inward sigh but pulled out the architectural blueprints anyway. Ghost obviously didn't plan on cracking but Salazar was nothing if not cunning. He'll weasel the truth out someday.

"For the west wing's third floor, I think it would be best if we remove the beetle colony first. And it is a given we keep the remains away from Godric, only Heaven knows what kind of pranks he would pull with the extra arsenal…"

* * *

**Twenty-Five Years Later (Age 49)**

Helga drew her breath in and exhaled it slowly. On the other side of her, Ghost rested in an armchair with his head propped on an elbow, firelight playing with his orange hair and chiseled features.

She thinks it started after the first Sorting of the Houses. Arguably, it may have started before that, on the night the four of them first met him, but it was much stronger and much more apparent after the first Sorting.

Godric was first on Sorting rotation, so he stood while she and the others sat at the High Table. Ghost was pretending to be a painting on the wall above their heads when it was really just him momentarily possessing one. Candles floated everywhere (a little decoration added in last minute) and they cast a warm yellow glow on the grey stone. Helga thought it looked more like home.

One by one, students (_Hogwarts_ _students_, she had thought with delight) came forth and put on the Sorting Hat. Sort (a simple nickname for the hat) did the job of reading each boy's and girl's main trait and placing them into respective Houses, but there was another job he did. Every child he came into contact with was checked to see if he/she was the one Ghost was looking for. If he/she was, Sort would immediately yell out "GHOST!"

Fifty-eight kids. Twenty-seven girls. Thirty-one boys. Thirteen in Gryffindor. Fifteen in Hufflepuff. Thirteen in Slytherin. Seventeen in Ravenclaw.

Zero in Ghost.

After the Welcoming Feast, Ghost came down from his painting to congratulate them all in the privacy of the circular room. Which was painfully ironic, since the four of them were supposed to congratulate _him_, for finally finding the one he had waited more than half a century for. They made their toasts and downed their drinks, only to nearly spit it back out when Ghost, mischievous glint in his eyes, downed his drink too. Apparently, he'd always been able to eat and drink, he just never felt like it.

"Besides," he said, waving his empty glass at the four of them, smirk playing on his lips, "you're faces were _priceless._"

Naturally, this brought on questions (Rowena), laughter (Godric), astonishment (her), and glares (Salazar; honestly he was such a _kid_). It would have accumulated to a drinking contest between Godric and Ghost had she not smacked the Gryffindor upside the head.

Honestly, they were adults now. Sometimes Helga felt like only she realized that.

The term started, and _Merlin_ it was like being a new mother again. The students looked up to her with such quivering trust in their wide eyes that she immediately resolved to give her heart and soul to teach them, these students of hers. When she stopped and thought about it, being a teacher to them was like being a mother, really.

Oh, they weren't angels, especially Godric's House. They all got in their fair share of tumbles and crashes. Who could forget that tearful Helen, who feared every statue and bust in the castle? Or Darrin, so clumsy the four of them seriously considered transforming all the floors into foam?

But they also made her so proud, especially when Orion brewed his first perfect Swelling Potion, and Kathleen managed to Charm a feather five feet into the air.

She had her hands busy, and she knew that the other three were the same. And Ghost being, well, a _ghost_, stayed up in the circular room, out of sight from the students unless from a painting's viewpoint. He sometimes entertained other dead souls, the most common of whom were Black and White, two ghosts who were like Ghost in terms of color and transparency.

White looked like Ghost's albino twin with a sadistic streak to rival the size of the castle and Black would have been what she'd consider a normal teen, albeit a bit dark with his raven hair and robes, if she didn't see him once carry around a thin black iron sword. Both were odd company to say the least and many times Helga feared that White would bring down the castle dead or not, but Ghost seemed to like them, so she was friendly with them too.

The term ended, miraculously, without serious injury to any students, and after what seemed like an impossibly short break, her beloved students were back in Hogwarts. With them came another generation of students, all ready to be Sorted and taught.

She held the honor the second year, and when none invoked Ghost's name, Helga could feel the ache in her heart for poor Ghost, sitting alone in his painting above. They celebrated again that night, and Godric tried his best to clap him on the back and cheer him up of a better time next term. Tried being the key word since 1) his hand passed through his back and 2) Ghost only looked mildly better.

The second year was worse and better at the same time than the first, and she nearly cried when they all left again. But she kept up a smile-albeit a bit watery- because she knew that they would return, and with them would come Ghost's little friend.

Before the third Feast Godric reeled them all in for a victory toast for good luck on their third shot. After the Feast Godric reeled them all in again for a better-luck-next time toast. The fouth, fifth, sixth, and seventh started and ended the same way. With each toast they saw their dead friend slip away deeper, leaving behind darker brown eyes. By the ending toast of the fifteenth Sorting, only Godric was attempting to smile.

After the sixteenth Feast Ghost didn't even stay until the end of the meal. He just stood up from his oil-painted armchair and walked out of the frame in the middle of the applause. When the meal was done, they all rushed up the spiral staircase, three steps at a time. On the landing in front of the circular room they found White leaning against the door, colorless thin blade in tight grip and a fierce gleam in his eyes, threatening to skewer them into a kabob if they weren't gone _now._ Rowena didn't even have stick around to ask what in the world a _kabob_ was.

On the seventeenth feast, they debated if he would even appear. She didn't think it likely, so her heart soared when she saw a flash of orange in the painting when she turned to grab Sort.

_This time,_ she swore. _This time he'll come._

Down to the last child she fervently prayed that Sort would call out his name, but God was cruel. The last child turned away to join the Gryffindors. By the time she turned around, Ghost was already gone.

Instead of all of them climbing up again, she managed to convince the three to let her go alone. Again, she met White, glare and sword at ready. But Helga spat that White could go to hell, elbowed past the teen and kicked the door open ferociously.

Which brought her to her seated position in front of Ghost.

A log in the fireplace crackled. Helga fidgeted.

"You're getting better at being solid, Ghost."

"Thank you. I can almost do it unconsciously now."

"I see."

"The nights are getting colder."

"Indeed; many of my students came in black and yellow scarves."

"You must have been touched."

"I was."

She felt that that was enough pleasantries to last a year.

"Ghost, about the Sorting… do you want to talk about it?"

Ghost gave her a slightly exasperated look that was slightly ruined by the tired weight pulling on his cheeks. "Helga, I really don't need any comforting. I'm alright."

He saw the look on her face. "Really, I'm fine. I knew that it would take a while, I just had my hopes too high like a fool."

Helga hated the flatness of his voice. "Maybe the information was wrong, or maybe Sort missed a kid."

"No, no, the information isn't wrong, and Sort is doing his job just fine. Like I said, it's just me being a fool."

She balled her fists. "Ghost, you're _not_ being the fo-"

She choked off her next words when Ghost conjured up a bottle of alcohol. "Rowena taught me this bit of magic," he said, voice flat as he popped the cork off. "I guess she never thought I would use it like this."

Ghost tipped his head back and took in a generous amount. Helga watched with the wide-eyed astonishment of a child who sees a pig flying.

In their many years of being something between friends and acquaintances, she'd never seen him drink. Or, considering all those damned-to-hell toasts (pardon her language) she corrected herself; she'd never seen him drink _seriously_, in the trying-to-forget-and-get-drunk-off-my-ass drink.

Downing a quarter of the bottle, Ghost lowered his hand and stared impassively at the sloshing liquid inside the glass. When he spoke, his voice was as blank as before.

"When the job was offered, we both knew it wasn't an offer."

Helga wanted to ask who the other party was, but decided against it.

"It was to find someone to be the new lynchpin. Something like that is a once-in-a-thousand-lifetimes honor. All I had to do was 'go on vacation.' Just stay away for five decades to five centuries. Maybe even more."

The liquid made little swirling noises.

"He said it was an honor to do it, and it was his way of thanking me for the favor I did for him. And we both knew that I couldn't turn it down, because once I did, he would go and offer the same thing to another one of my friends. And they would take it, we knew. I just couldn't let that happen."

Ghost studied the bottle.

"So _I _took it," he cleared his throat with another heavy gulp. "And landed here."

A sliver of a smile entered his face. He gulped down some more alcohol and looked straight at her. "I know it will take a while, Helga, I've been told as much. And as annoying as all of you brats can be, you're all important to me, like some sort of godchildren. Same goes for those brats you care for so much. But," his voice cracked.

"It's just hard, missing everyone."

Helga reached out and hugged him tightly as she would a child, patting him on the back and pretending not to hear him cry. At some point she began to cry as well, for the life and loved ones he had to leave behind.

Ghost buried his face in her robes, but they remained dry. Sometimes she forgot he was dead.

She knew he was asleep when her hand began to pass through his back. Right on time, Black and White slipped through the door and wordlessly ushered her out. But there was something like respect, or at least mild acknowledgement in their eyes as they closed the door.

Oh, right. She'd never asked about those two.

_Another time_, she supposed, making her way back to her Tower.

* * *

**At the time of Rowena's death**

"Are you completely sure?"

"Exactly and fully sure."

"In science, one can never be that certain."

"We are not talking about science, we are talking about passing over the key to the Room of Requirement."

Ghost sat by her hospital bed, his calloused young hands holding her own wrinkled lump of bones. He had an uncertain look on his face.

"Rowena, that Room is your child. Are you seriously considering handing your child over?"

"Handing over my child over to a trusted friend couldn't hurt nearly as much as losing my first one to herself."

"The Baron will be back soon, your daughter in tow."

"Bah!" She waved her other hand in the air. Age and grief had made her bitter. "They'll come back as ghosts you mean. I know my daughter. She's too proud to come back. She'd rather die than to live with this blight on her pride. My arrogant, prideful, beautiful daughter."

Ghost tightened his hold on her hands. "Your daughter will be back, Rowena. I promise it."

She shook her head. "What did I say about promises, Ghost. Don't make too many or you'll be entangled like a Skittish Sprunk in a Garland Wizbert's hair."

He didn't even question what they were. "Nevertheless, I promise it."

She drew her lips back into a yellow smile missing a few teeth. "You poor, adolescent soul. Too kind to this dying old lady when you already have to look for your little king." She coughed in heaving gasps.

She saw the spike of surprise in his natural scowl and cocked her head in a manner familiar to her old, dreamy self. "A natural King Arthur story this is, you being the blade in the anvil and young Arthur still polishing up his brother's shield and ego somewhere. I'm just curious who Merlin is in this little play."

"Well," she cast a half curious glance at her ancient body, "it's not like I have time to rummage around my Library some more."

Then her dreamy state snapped and she was back into a dying bitter mother. "Which is why you need to take the key. The only person I am willing to pass my last child to is you, since the other three are either six feet under or bedridden like me. Who knows, maybe it can be a little training area for your swordsmanship."

Ghost gave such a look of astonishment that Rowena burst out in laughter. It took hard work to break through that scowl, and she might as well use up all her ammunition while she could. Heaven could grant an old woman some sort of joy before she left.

"How did you know?"

"The sword one? Only just received confirmation." She relished in his scowl.

"Of course, it wasn't just a shot in the dark. I always suspected when I caught sight of the way you walk and Black and White's swords, but your hands were also a huge clue."

With effort, she lifted the hand that he was holding. "See? Only a swordsman could have that many calloused fingers in that particular order. Though I suspect you use the rare form of fighting with two slim blades and no shield."

"What else do you know?"

"Besides that you're not a normal ghost?" She hummed a bit, staring out the window.

"You originated from an Asian line, maybe Japanese? You look at strawberries with a scowl that looks oddly amused, so they have some sort of inside joke to them. You lost a parent, most likely a mother, before you died, which also explains that incomplete childhood Salazar blathered about. Black and White are something along the lines of bickering/overprotective brothers to you. Also potentially related. You're excellent with kids, so a lot experience with them back in the day. And also,"

Rowena looked at him with steel grey eyes. "You were a war commander before you became a Grim Reaper."

Ghost's face closed down like a steel barrier slammed down. Another confirmation. The kid was still too obvious.

"I don't think a teenager like me could have led an army." His voice was careful.

"You are purposefully drawing my attention to the first statement, which clearly means that you are indeed a Grim Reaper. I always imagined the Reaper to be a skeleton with a scythe, so it makes me happy that you are not."

"I'm not something that harvests souls."

"Indeed you're not. You're some_one _that harvests souls. So Mister Grim Reaper, take this key and let me rest for a while. All this talking has made me drowsy."

"For the last time, I will not take the Room."

"Think of it as a parting gift. I know you'll be even lonelier after I leave. It's just something to remember me by."

"Still, I can't. Give it to another, a trusted student perhaps."

"No one needs it as much as you will, Ghost. So take it. Please."

She reached for the fine steel chain around her neck and slowly drew out the key. The golden bit of ironwork glinted in the morning sun. Slowly, carefully, she reached out and placed it on top of Ghost's hands. Rowena saw him waver. She supplied him a nod of encouragement. He picked up the key.

"Just never lock it, will you? That magic is meant to be shared."

"Are you sure it's not just to brag?"

"A weak attempt to humor me, Ghost, but I'm glad for it."

"Grim Reapers sometimes offer their own form of therapy to the dead or dying."

"Interesting. Is it because the end is too frightening or is it for their own conscience?"

"Who knows."

"…"

"…"

"Ghost, is death painful?"

A sad smile. "Don't worry Rowena. Your end will be gentle." He left with sorrow on his shoulders.

She lay back on her bed. A smile flickered through the old wrinkled of her face.

What an odd Grim Reaper. Who knew Death would mourn for his victims?

* * *

**Centuries later**

_He's here._

The moment that Harry Potter used the Resurrection Stone to bring back his loved ones, the contract was signed and he possessed the Cloak, Wand and Stone. In simpler words, he became the Master of Death.

_He's here_.

Some time after defeating the single greatest threat in Wizarding History, the Master stood on the spiraling staircase with his two most trusted companions. In his hand was the Wand and in his robes the Cloak. He didn't realize the Stone had returned itself to its master as well, and was sitting in his pocket.

_He's here._

When he entered the circular room that was the office of the Headmasters, he was greeted with thunderous applause and thanks. Albus Dumbledore cried tears. Harry Potter and his friends were standing in the exact spot that the Four Founders did, hundreds of years ago when they were still young and on a midnight adventure.

_He's here._

The Master raised his hands for silence. The paintings respectfully obeyed. He directed his words to the silver-bearded wizard. He said he lost the Stone. The Stone was right there. The Cloak he would keep. He could never relinquish ownership until he had his first born. The Wand he would return. It would still come back to him. He wanted to die a natural death…

_He's here._

When he arrived, the Master was already gone, asleep in his bed. Albus begged him to let Harry have a year of peace, one year before he threw him into the world of the dead. He stared incredulously at the portrait. Did he have any idea of how _long_ he'd waited, of how many years he'd spent alone? Did he have any idea of the pain of watching the ones he'd made friends with die and leave him alone again? Did he have any idea of this at all?

_He's here._

The man begged him relentlessly, desperate to let Harry experience even just a short amount of time in which he would not realize his position. The other paintings threw in their own pleas and arguments, and he wanted to swing his sword upon them all. They all knew him, watched him live too long past them, and constantly wait for the one person who wouldn't appear. And yet they surrounded him, asking him to wait longer.

_He's here._

He knew who the kid was. Harry Potter, chosen even before he would walk, much less take down a Dark Lord. He lost two parents, not just one. _That had no meaning to him_. He was always painfully different, sometimes cast as a delinquent craving attention or a divine hero from heaven, sometimes both, when he was just a struggling boy. _What of it._ He faced the murderer of his parents and countless other time and time again. _Doesn't matter_. Harry Potter finally defeated him and tasted long-awaited victory. He became Master of Death through his choice, and will have to suffer under the heavy title until he dies. _He is still the next King. It doesn't relate to anything._ Only it did, and-damn his soul-he agreed to wait one more year.

_ He's here._

One year, he swore, just one. One year, in which all of the Hollows in Hueco Mundo would swarm into the World of the Living, drawn in by the scent of a newborn Master of Death. One year in which he, Shiro, and Tensa Zangetsu would take rotations of watch duty, one watching the Master and the other two fighting blood and bone to prevent any Hollow hands from touching a human. One year of 24/7 fights to the death.

_He's here…_

_ But I'll wait._

* * *

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